


time from time

by freshia



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Amnesia, Canon Divergence, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Post-Trespasser, Slow Burn, its a lil angsty but also fluffy, probably a loose interpretation of how lyrium works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6869596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freshia/pseuds/freshia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan wipes Solas's memories at the price of her own, Dorian thinks it's all kind of amusing, and Varric thinks this could be the Best Damn Love Story he's ever seen.</p>
<p>OR: two strangers remeet each other and get the happy ending they deserve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	time from time

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62477365#t62477365) from the kinkmeme.

 

_and in a mystery to be_

_(when time from time shall set us free)_

_forgetting me,remember me_

-e.e cummings

 

 

She puts it together rather quickly.

Not immediately, of course, and there's no way she can be sure-- it's hard enough to focus on just fighting the Qun with the throbbing pain shooting up her marked arm. But the notes, all the hints...

It's spelled out pretty clearly

So she purses her lips and pockets some lyrium with her good hand in the mines when it's dark and she doesn't think her companions will notice. She doesn't know what she'll use it for-- It blisters her to touch, but she's already got one bad hand and more than just one bad feeling about what's coming.

 

 

/

 

He quiets her aching hand with a single look, and despite it all she doesn't fling herself at him upon meeting his eyes.

(Two years, she imagined the reunion. It did not go like this in her head.)

Instead, she listens. She listens when he explains, tells her about ancient elvhan Gods that she thought she knew, tells her about himself. He may be Fen'Harel but he will always be just _Solas_ to her.

“... And you showed me that I was wrong, again. That does not make what comes next any easier.”

That also doesn't make what he's saying any easier. She doesn't know what she expected, but it wasn't this. He's not going to budge, she can see it in his eyes.

(The lyrium is practically burning a hole in her pocket, and she thinks she can agree with his statement about what comes next. Dorian told her two years ago that heroes don't make it out of stories alive-- and if she has to die to save this word she spent _three_ _years_ trying to keep together, so be it.)

When the anchor flares up again-- shooting pain all throughout her body, this time-- she takes advantage of the distraction to pick out the lyrium with her other hand. He's crouched down next to her, and there's no better time than now.

But, still.

“Solas, _var lath vir suledin_.” the rock burns into her palm. He looks at her sadly.

“I wish it could, _vhenan_.”

She sucks in a shaky breath, and opens her hand just enough so he can catch a glimpse of the lyrium. She stares at him as his eyes widen, before clamping the rock between her two hands. The lyrium burns her skin, reacts against her glowing hand.

Lavellan's eyes say the sorry she can't manage to whisper out, just before she discharges the anchor. Green is all she sees.

 

/

 

A girl wakes up in an unfamiliar bed, with her heat beating so fast she thinks it might pound right out of her chest. For a brief moment, she wonders-- maybe she was dreaming-- but she can't remember what about. She also can't remember what she was doing, last. Or... Where she even was.

But no point in panicking about it, she thinks. Just post-dreaming confusion. She doesn't _really_ freak out until she attempts to prop herself up on the bed, and finds out that she's missing an _entire_ _arm_.

Her scream could probably have pierced the veil itself. An elven servant comes rushing in, wide-eyed, looking just as surprised as she felt herself. They stare at each other for a few seconds, both silently shocked.

“I-I, see that you're awake! I should go... Get Leliana, or Cullen, or... Someone. Please, excuse me, your worship!”

She blinks as the other leaves before she can even get in a word, mulling over what they had said. Is she supposed to know who Leliana is? Cullen? Why was she being referred to as your _worship_?

She doesn't have much time to ponder it, as the door swings back open barely a few minutes later. A woman with short, orange hair enters her room and immediately gives out a huge sigh of relief. “Inquisitor. I'm so glad you woke up.”

Orange-haired girl moves closer, and she watches her warily as the girl continues talking. “I mean, if this isn't a little familiar. Knocked out cold, not waking up, us having to monitor you.” she smiles. “How are you feeling?”

There's a pregnant pause in the air, when she doesn't answer for a moment. She doesn't know who this girl is, and she realizes, with a start, she doesn't really know who she _herself_ is either. She opens her mouth, closes it. Blinks.

“I'm really sorry to ask you this. But who are you?”

Her smile immediately drops.

“Oh, no. Not you too.”

/

 

It's strange, to call a meeting with all of Lavellan's companions included. It's even stranger to have _her_ not be here, but given the situation, its necessary. Whatever happened with Solas, when she left everyone behind to rescue him, is long gone to history now. In the state they were both found in, it was a miracle they were even alive. Their Inquisitors hand showed signs of being damaged, and there were traces of lyrium found in the air when they finally managed to reach the two.

They'd likely just never know what happened.

“We need to decide how much to tell them,” Leliana starts. “I mean, beyond the basics. We're starting from scratch here, no?”

Josephine nods. “Our Inquisitor did not even know her name, and Solas seems to be in the same boat. Lyrium is known to affect memory, perhaps whatever triggered the explosion enhanced the potency?”

Dorian scoffs, crossing his arms. “My dear Josephine, you were not there. I think it was instantly pretty clear exactly what caused that explosion.” he gestured toward his own arm. “She's lucky we have healers talented enough to patch up that mess.”

There's a hum of agreeance that goes around. If there's anything certain about the situation, it's that they are both entirely too lucky. That makes twice for Lavellan; the mark may be gone but the tales of Andraste's blessing will continue.

“But luck, or fate, or whatever they both have on their side out of the way; we should discuss what's really on our minds.” Varric speaks up. Nobody else interjects after a pause, so he sighs.

“I'm talking about their relationship.”

“I see no need to mention it.” Cassandra says. “They had essentially... Broken up, anyway, as I understand it. I believe it would just make things...”

“Awkward.” Leliana concedes. Cassandra nods.

“Yes, awkward.”

Dorian clears his throat.

“Not that I disagree, but how then do you intend to explain why they were found together? Passed out? No memory? I'm sure there's bound to be questions.”

“We _all_ have questions. And, besides, they both already have enough on their plate to be pondering that anyway. Lavellan especially, I don't believe she's even thought about it with all her other catching up she has to do.”

“And Solas?” Cullen asks. Sera, looking bored out of her mind and rolling a pebble between her fingers, snickers.

“Elfy-elf is back to elfing. No memories and he's still got his head stuck up his arse, I can tell you that.”

Cassandra pinches the bridge of her nose. “Please tell me you haven't been harassing him.”

“I don't _harass_.”

“Though, this certainly opens up some promising fun to be had.” Dorian grins, and Sera laughs as Cassandra purses her lips.

“Please. This is obviously a delicate situation. Can you not think about how it would feel if you lost all your memories?”

“But we're not talking about _me_ , are we?”

“Okay, enough.” Leliana announces, in an attempt to reign the conversation back in. “So, have we come to an agreement to let what happened between those two sit in the past?”

“I think that would be best.” Cullen states. “We can fill them in on everything else, just leave that tidbit out.”

“And if either of them ask what their relationship was like?” Varric questions.

Leliana lets out a sigh. “We'll cross that bridge when we get there.”

/

 

It's been a week now and she's kept to herself to start off with, pours over notes she needs to catch up on. Mostly about herself, from other people who know her better than she knows herself.

It's a lot to memorize, more than she can even attempt: Dalish elf from clan Lavellan, leader of the Inquisition, savior of Thedas. She can't even imagine it. It sounds like an overblown hero's tale, fake and from another world.

(Like she was constantly moving up in life, and now suddenly she is at a stand-still because the world was on her shoulders-- and one week ago she didn't even know her own _name_. The stomach acid comes up into her throat when she thinks about that, though, so she stops.)

She finally gets tired of it, reading about herself, about her own adventures, about all the friends she supposedly had. She figures there's only so much one elf can memorize at once, and trying to live the ghost life of another girl was only going to depress her.

No _old_ memories?

Time to make new ones.

It's almost a relief to be outside, when she finally works up the nerve. Her room is comfy, and large, and even has a balcony-- but it isn't the same as being able to walk around a garden. She'd done her best to commit Skyhold's map to memory, but it was a huge place, and some wandering was well in order. She lets her feet carry her where they want to.

Heads are turning as she wanders, their gazes focused on her missing arm. She knows. She wishes she had some kind of answers for them. If only she had kept a diary, or something to go off of rather than what other people told her.

Her eyes scan her surroundings, looking for anything of familiarity to anchor herself onto. She can tell, just by the architecture, that this place must be pretty old. It's got a certain air to it, too-- like these buildings have seen far more than she ever has. Her eyes catch a dwarf, with slicked back blonde hair, and she thinks she can match the description to one of her friends.

Slowly, she crosses the room to him.

“Hello,” she starts, by way of greeting, and he looks up from whatever he was writing, pen in hand, and grins.

“Inquisitor. To what do I owe this honor?”

“Varric, I presume?” she tries to hide her nervousness-- besides Leliana, she hadn't had a whole lot of contact with any of the others yet. He nods.

“The one and only. Well, here, anyway. Finally feeling better?” there's an actual concern behind his grin that she can see, and he feels trustworthy.

“Oh, yes. It's actually very easy to recover from a missing arm and lost memories. Didn't you know?”

A laugh rises out of him, and it's hearty. Enough to make her smile, partially from relief. _So far so good_.

“Glad to know the blast didn't knock your sense of humor out of you. That'd be a terrible thing to lose.” he pauses, for a moment, shrugging. “But I mean, a missing limb _and_ missing memories? There's always a good story behind something like that. Usually involves alcohol, though, in my experience.”

“I wish that it was just that.” she glances down to her hand, flexing her fingers as she examines the scarring left from the incident. She tries not to linger for too long, though-- it wasn't like she hadn't stared at it enough already. “Varric, can I ask you a question?”

“That's familiar.” he chuckles, leaning back on his stool. “Your memory may still be gone but at least you're still the same old. What's up?”

She decides not to comment on the same old part-- if he seemed to think she was acting like how she used to, that was good enough for her.

“I was... Wondering who I was closest to.” she shifts uncomfortably, hyper-aware of how odd the question was. “I have descriptions of everyone here, but they're co-written by Leliana and Josephine and very impartial. I almost wish I had kept a personal journal, or something.” the ending is tacked on, almost in a grumble. Varric is quiet for a moment, looking contemplative.

Lavellan tries to read his face for emotions, but she just doesn't know him well enough. She wonders, briefly, if she could have guessed what he was thinking _before_ she had lost her memories.

His voice snaps her out of her thoughts.

“Honestly? You were pretty close to all of us. You were always going out of your way to do this, or that, for every single soul. Even the refugees in places you didn't really know.”

She frowns at that, despite the fact that he _almost_ sounds like he's praising her. “There isn't _anyone_ I was closer to than everyone else?” she prods. He makes a grumbling noise, looks away from her like he's thinking over his next words very carefully. Finally, he clears his throat.

“Up for some friendly advice instead? Don't worry so much about what you were like. It seems like it must come naturally to you, so you don't need to redeem yourself to anyone. You're still our Inquisitor.”

She opens her mouth to respond, and he holds up a hand. “ _But_ , maybe you should go talk to Solas.” there's a pause. “He's in pretty much the same position, so maybe you two could bond or something.”

She blinks a few times. The name sounds familiar, for some reason more familiar than the others-- _ah_.

“Solas? The mage I was found with.” _Right_. The notes come back to her quickly. “His memory is gone too, correct?”

Varric nods. “Yeah, that'd be him. I can pretty much guarantee he's in his quarters, because he never leaves. Never used to either, even when he still had his memory.” he chuckles. “It's like everything is back to how it was. Need directions there?”

She shakes her head. “No. The best way to learn is trial and error, anyway. I think I know where it is. Thanks, Varric.”

“No problem. Take care of yourself.”

She smiles, giving a nod before heading back toward the hallway she had come out of. There were about a million doors here in Skyhold, but she'd never figure anything out if she didn't make an attempt to do it herself. She counts the doors back from the throne, trying to picture the map in her head. Her focus lands on one door, and she crosses her fingers.

“Not that one.”

A voice from behind her almost makes her jump out of her skin. She whips around, face-to-face with a boy in an oversized hat. She's about to comment when he points behind her, to a different door. “That one.”

She opens her mouth, thinks better of it, and closes it again. Her gaze shifts from him, to the door. “Thank you...”

“Cole.”

“Cole.” she reaffirms, with a smile. She remembers now; the report about him had been the sparsest. He was the spirit that took the shape of a boy. It said that Solas had called him _compassion_.

“He's lonely, just as confused as you.”

She blinks, her eyebrows knitting together for a moment. A cryptic thing to say, but she can't remember ever having interacted with a spirit before. Maybe that's just par for the course.

Besides, if what Varric had said was true-- that he never comes out of his quarters-- then the statement is unsurprising. She nods. “Well, maybe I can fix that.”

A smile lights up Cole's face for an instant as he looks at the door a final time, and turns to walk away. Leliana's notes had warned that he was eccentric, but it was almost soothing. The fact that there could be good spirits in the world? She doesn't remember ever considering it before, and she feels grateful to him.

“Thank you, Cole.”

“It isn't a problem. I hope you find what you're looking for.”

_What she's looking for_? Lavellan is about to ask, but he's gone, just like that. She glances at the door he had pointed to. Well, here comes _re-greeting people she already know_ s, number 3. Her knuckles bang against the door a few times, and she waits.

There is no response at first, and she considers knocking again, but something in her refrains. She's glad; soon enough, the door opens and... There he is, the apostate she had heard so much about.

(And by _so much_ she meant practically nothing, because his notes were almost as slim as Cole's.)

Solas blinks once, twice, looking at her before his eyes widen. “Oh.” he says.

“Oh?”

“Pardon me, Inquisitor.” he clears his throat, and steps aside to allow her in. “I don't get many visitors, and it took me a moment to match what I know of you to your physical face.”

She smiles, just a brief flash of a grin for a moment. “I know the feeling. So, they've been giving you the same treatment, have they? Catching you up by writings?”

“It's simpler than trying to scramble for information by myself.” he states, and she has to admit there's a truth to that. She just wishes it wasn't all so _much_ at _once_.

“You're probably not wrong there.” she says, and there's a silence that hangs in the air for a moment-- somewhere between awkward and comfortable. She glances down at her boots, beginning to question Varric's suggestion to come here. It had sounded nice in theory, but she knew practically nothing about this man and they were both complete strangers to each other-- besides being elves, and being found in the same place at the same time, they had nothing in common as far as she knew.

Solas clears his throat.

“Perhaps, introductions are in order.” he suggests, the corners of his lips turned upward in an almost-smile. She looks back up at him.

“Introductions? Hmm,” A thoughtful noise _hmms_ past her lips. “I think we already knew each other.”

He nods.

“Yes, but the past is doing us little good right now,” Solas pauses, giving her time to mull over that statement. “And, as we're effectively in the same position, it might be nice to have a fresh start.”

Lavellan blinks up at him. “You're... Right.” she says, a smile running across her face. “Then, to whatever friendship we may have had before, let this be the start to a new one.”

He only smiles in response.

/

 

She has notes about herself, saying that she's Dalish, but...

From what she knows about the Dalish, they have Vallaslin. A rite of passage, (if she isn't mistaken; she second-guesses herself all the time now) there's almost no way someone her age wouldn't have had them. Her hands roam over her bare face when she looks at the unfamiliar reflection of herself in the mirror.

But the last thing she wants to do is look ignorant, especially about her own culture. There's no one around to really ask, and she feels embarrassed having to ask a shemlen. Dalish people were proud of what they were, and even if she had lost that all--

She needed _something_ to hold onto. It was one of the few things about herself that didn't sound ridiculous.

So when she walks in on a conversation between Dorian, Varric, and Solas one day, she doesn't mean to intrude. But she hears the words Dalish and immediately tunes in, her passing-by turned into an attempt to eavesdrop from a few feet away just like that.

“Dorian, you cannot trick me. I've become used to Sera's antics by now, I am not so gullible.”

She hears Dorian scoff. “Well, fine! But I'm telling you I'm just passing on information you told me yourself. Something I thought you might like to know.”

“No offense, my... _Friend_ ,” there's an unnatural beat there, “but why would I have revealed that information to you, and you only, precisely?”

Lavallen has to bite her lip to keep from grinning at that.

“Oh, Solas, you _wound_ me.” she can hear the deception in Dorian's voice and isn't surprised: just last week he had managed to convince her that her favorite snack was a salad that consisted of nothing but raw Elfroot. She has come to love the Tevinter magister yet, though, almost in a sibling way despite the short period of time. That nearly turned hazardous when Dorian had tried to trick her into believing they were secretly betrothed for political reasons. If Cassandra hadn't happened upon that conversation to put her foot down on what she saw as a “ _potential prank gone too far_ ”, Maker only knows what would have happened.

“Forgive me for believing Leliana's reports of me being raised in a small village, ones that I feel I should note she gave me _months_ ago, over your sudden confession Dorian.” Solas bites back, and Lavellan has to stifle a snicker. “Besides, you have no proof to back you up. Not to mention my lack of Vallaslin.”

Her smile drops. So she wasn't wrong in her knowledge of that, at least. It was something that all Dalish elves had.

“Like that means anything!” she isn't looking in their direction, but can practically see Dorian puff out his chest at that. “Take our Inquisitor, for example--”

Dorian is cut off with an _ouch_ and Lavellan turns to look at what has happened. Varric's staring right at her-- aware of her presence the entire time?-- and hissing something to Dorian. He deflates as he follows Varric's gaze, and Solas follows shortly.

A blush dusts over her cheeks, all the way up to the tips of her ears at being caught. Meekly, she takes a guilty step toward them.

“I-I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop-- Well, not exactly.” she admits. “I just overheard Dalish, and... Anyway, you really don't need to look so guilty.” she directs her gaze toward Dorian, gesturing to her face. “I know I don't have any. It's kind of hard to miss. I mean, I've questioned it myself before too. It's fine.”

“Er...” Dorian starts, dropping the pompous facade. “No, I'm sorry. It's impolite to talk about someone without their being present. But, ah...” he looks uncertain, like he's not sure if he's crossing any boundaries. “If you're really unsure about your heritage I would talk to Josie. I believe she corresponded with your clan a few years ago regarding you being here, she might still have the letters.”

“Oh.” well, that _would_ be nice. She had assumed her clan long gone and lost to her forever, wherever or whoever they were. “Maybe I'll go do that, then.”

“You _should_ do that, then.” he nods toward her, grin snaking it's way across his face once more before turning to address Solas. “And I believe, my good sir, that you caught me red-handed in my antics. I suppose I'll have to try harder next time.”

“I'll look forward to it.” his response is laced with sarcasm.

“Definitely do!” Dorian's eyes flick between her, to Solas, and back, before he nudges Varric ever-so-subtly. She does not miss the look they share before announcing that they have things they need to attend to, and splitting off in opposite directions.

“I'm sorry you had to hear that.” Solas apologizes as soon as they're out of earshot, and Lavellan shakes her head.

“Don't apologize. Dorian is always like that. I guess that's how you know he likes you, if he messes with you.”

“Maybe he should like me a little less, then.”

She laughs at his response, and can tell by the way the corners of his mouth twitch upward that he doesn't really mean it. She runs her hand up her cheek, taking a seat across from him where Dorian was previously. “I do wonder why, though. There's still so many things about myself that seem like a mystery.”

His gaze rests on her, eyes following where her fingers brush across her skin. He's staring at her and she feels her cheeks start to burn again, which only makes her more embarrassed-- there's no way he doesn't notice. But if he does, he ignores it, reaching his hand out for a moment before thinking better of it, stopping and resting both of his arms on the table in front of him.

She almost feels disappointed.

“Maybe you had them, once.” He finally concludes, and glances away at her skeptical stare.

“What do you mean?”

He looks back at her again, before scanning around the room like he is looking for someone. Then, carefully, he leans in.

Her heart hammers against her chest as he brings his hands up once more, brushes his thumb across her cheek, just barely grazing the top of her cheekbone. He moves it up, over, to the corner of her eye, and she realizes he's tracing something. It's the first time they'd ever touched, (as far as she knew, as far as their “new friendship” was concerned, at least,) and she has to bite back a nervous swallow.

“There are traces here,” he finally says, keeping his thumb in place, just by the corner of her eye. His knuckles are brushing her cheek and he seems to suddenly notice the reddening of them, pulling his focus from whatever he was staring at to her eyes. He pulls his hand back, and she lets out a small sigh-- from relief, or... (what surprises her most, that she even considers it,) disappointment?

She manages to spit out a word despite her state-- “ _Traces_?”-- and that seems to put him back into focus. He nods, before looking down at his own hands now placed on the table.

“It's nearly impossible to see. I only noticed, because...” he pauses for a moment, looking confused. “Of magic? I suppose. There's a spell that can take away the Vallaslin, perhaps someone used that on you.” Lavellan blinks in surprise, mostly because she had never heard of a spell like that-- not that she can remember, at least-- and also because that would imply that she willingly gave up the facial markings that were so sacred.

She draws a connection in her mind, and knows that if she's made it he's likely one step ahead of her, smart as he is.

But still, just to make sure, she asks:

“Do... You know this spell?”

He hesitates for a moment, before nodding in response to her question.

“Ah.”

It's not even a word, just a noise of acknowledgment. Of course, he's surely not the only person in all of Thedas who knows a spell like that-- there has to be others. It's possible she met some other mage that did it for her.

But she is not slow enough on the uptake to really believe that, and she can tell by the sudden shift of emotion in the air that Solas has made the same conclusion as she has. Probably even before her. She coughs into her hand, a curled fist in front of her lips.

“I just remembered, I was on my way to speak with Josephine earlier. You'll excuse me, right?” she doesn't _give_ time for there to be an awkward silence, this time, and he nods.

“Of course. We'll talk more next time.”

“Of course.” she responds, and gets up from the table. She thinks about leaving it at that, but something stops her. “.. “I look forward to it.”

Solas looks amused. “As do I.”

She starts off toward Josephine's desk, but makes a turn along the way.

She knows who to go to if she wants to confirm something with a straight answer.

/

 

Maybe _straight_ answer wasn't the best way to word it. Sera's eyebrows are raised up so high they almost disappear into her bangs at the question.

“Your elfy markings? Yeah, you had 'em. When I first met you. But then, poof, gone. And you were awfully cranky about it too; real sore. Like “ _Ooh, don't talk to me about it!_ ” But now you want to talk about it. Figures.”

“I was upset?” Lavellan asks, for clarification. It's rowdy enough in here that no one is listening to their conversation.

She struggles to put together a puzzle with missing pieces, but she's trying her best. The fact that it happened while she was in the Inquisition practically answers the Solas question, though it was hardly one to begin with. But were they forcibly taken from her? The thought makes her frown.

“Questions, questions, questions! You're always askin' this or that or this-- Oh, but I guess that's pretty normal for an amnesiac innit? Well, anyway, you were always askin' questions before too so I guess not much has changed.” she pauses, and Lavellan waits, patiently. “I don't know what happened-- none of us do, I suspect, 'cept maybe Cole but you yelled at it the one time it brought it up. Well, it had somethin' to do with the elfy-elf. The one with the shiny head, like if you looked at him through one of those skull-thingies we used to find rocks with he'd light right up too.”

Lavellan had no idea what she was talking about, but nodded anyway. “Solas?”

“Yeah, yeah. Elfy. He's really got a big chin, huh? I wonder if he ever drops food in it and stores it for later--”

“Sera.”

“Oh, alright alright.” she takes a swig of whatever she's drinking, wipes her mouth. “Is that it then?”

Lavellan chews the bottom of her lip, looking pensive. Solas had gotten rid of them, and she had been upset after? The only tie she had left to her culture and he took them away. But, she's careful not to jump to conclusions. She knows nothing of her past-self's thoughts. And then...

And then, there's a part of her that really doesn't _want_ to jump to conclusions, when Solas is involved. She tries not to dwell on this revelation. Despite this, she has to ask:

“I don't know if you would know, but... Is it... Possible I didn't want them gone?”

Sera makes a tsk noise, opening her mouth to respond before closing it. Then opening again, then closing.

“Sera?”

“Yeesh, gimme a second! Ahh, no. I mean, I think you wanted them gone. It was a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, a _thing_! You ask too many questions, seriously way too many. Your questions-per-day quota is up. No more questions, okay?” Sera grumbles something Lavellan can't quite catch under her breath, looking agitated. “You just don't worry so much about it. They're just tattoos. I know a place you can get some tattoos, if you miss 'em so bad.”

She smiles at that, if just to herself. “... Thanks for the offer, Sera, but I'm alright for now. And thanks for listening to me too.” she stands up to move toward the exit, and the other elf makes an indignant noise.

“Yeah, yeah, no problem, just don't go... Worrying about it, okay? It was a _thing_ but a _thing_ that can't be told 'cause of-- Urgh! Whatever. What's done is happened, you remember that.”

“Stay out of trouble, Sera.”

“Oh-- Hey, you too!”

/

 

Lavellan sits in the garden, running her hand over the bow that Cassandra had informed her was her “favorite”. She sighs, wistfully, letting her fingers brush over the dark wood.

Apparently, she had been a great archer. She can feel it when she holds the bow in her one hand; the urge to fire arrow after arrow into one of the test dummies lying around is a strong, natural one. But that's just another thing she lost, isn't it?

She hates being like this. She can feel everyone who passes by giving her sad looks, but it's easy enough to ignore. Moping in her room isn't helping anything, either, and it's just...

One of those days, she figures.

She feels like her entire being was tied onto the hand that she lost. She closed the rift with it, she put arrows through enemies with it, she climbed mountains in the Hinterlands with it. So what did that make her now? A figurehead?

She was certainly out of the loop with all of the Inquisition things; Josephine had told her they “had it handled”, and to “focus on trying to recover memories... or make new ones.”

It had been a month and a half now, and there was only so much to Skyhold. It was beautiful, and the people were fascinating, but it wasn't like any of the adventures she had been told she did so well.

She's so wrapped up in her own self pity, eyes tracing the shape of her bow, that she doesn't even notice the presence that appears next to her until he clears his throat. She snaps out of her stupor, jerking her head up to look at him.

“Oh! Solas.”

“Inquisitor,” he says in greeting, eyes glancing down at the bow in her lap. “That's quite a beautiful bow. Seems well-crafted.” he comments.

She nods, “I think so, too. Apparently it was my favorite.” then frowns, briefly, before shaking her head. “You should see my arsenal of arrows. I have ones that explode on contact, ones that catch on fire... I'm sure I was a force to be reckoned with.” she looks down at it again, a hint of sadness playing on her face.

“Is it weird to miss something you can't remember?”

He pauses for a moment, watching her fingers trace over the wood again as he sits down on the bench, next to her. “No. I'm certain it's natural.” there's a confidence to his voice that surprises her; she can't say she'd have used the word _natural_. “After all, do you still remember how to use it?”

“I think so. Not that I'll ever know now.” she sighs, feeling a little bit too vulnerable for her own tastes. “But there's no point in focusing on that. I'll do what I can for now.” which is apparently tending to the plants growing in the garden. _Well, someone has to do it_ \-- she fakes a smile, and hopes he doesn't notice.

Fortunately, he's staring at her limp sleeve, the place where the rest of her arm should be. It was a gaze she had become used to receiving-- in the first few weeks she was here, it seemed there was no one who could resist looking at it.

But with him, she remembers his hands tracing the skin on her face, staring so intently at her, and she feels a blush crawling up. She can't deny that she's attracted to mystery, and he's...

She haults her train of thought before it goes anywhere further. For all intents and purposes, she had known Solas for a little over a _month_. She couldn't be getting a _crush_ on him. As her face heats up, she panics. He can't see the way he makes her feel--

– And, so, she does the only thing she can think of to hide the flush of her cheeks. She shoves her shoulder into him.

She means it to be a playful thing, to cover up her growing embarrassment, and to be followed with some funny quip like ' _Didn't anyone ever teach you not to stare?'_ But that isn't quite what happens.

She leans too far over, and does bump into him with a _hmph._ But must have misjudged the exact distance between them, because without an arm on that side to steady her, she falls over sideways.

And lands right into his lap.

Her bow tumbles the short distance to the ground, which she only knows by the sound considering she's face down in Solas's _crotch_. She grasps the edge of the bench and pushes herself up with her good arm, face burning. In her attempt to avoid embarrassment, she had fallen right into it's _lap_. She would laugh at her own pun if she wasn't mortified.

_Sorry_ is right on the tip of her tongue as she scrambles up, off of him, but what comes out instead is: “That wasn't what was supposed to happen.”

He raises an eyebrow, looking like he was trying not to smirk. He was failing, but the slight pink on the tips of his ears deceives his own embarrassment.

“And what was your plan?”

Maker, have mercy and just strike her down now. “I, ah--” she shifts, straightening her posture in an attempt to look dignified. “I was going to shove you. For being rude and staring.”

“Very mature.” he's not even trying to hide his smirk now, and she scowls but can't stop the smile from creeping onto her face either.

“Oh, because you're so mature-- look at you, with that grin. You thought it was funny.”

“You're smiling too.” he points out, and she huffs.

“Oh, just... shut it.” _Smooth_. Sometimes she thinks she spends too much time with Sera. She picks her bow up from off the ground and gives it a one-over, making sure it didn't get damaged. Her cheeks are still flushed, she's sure, but there's nothing she can do it about it now. She feels his eyes on her, again, but she keeps her own gaze focused on the bow in her lap. A smile plays at her lips. “You came here to cheer me up, didn't you?”

He lets out a low hum, and she smiles to herself. “Perhaps,” he says, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes. “... But now I should be going. I have a project to be starting on.”

Lavellan arches an eyebrow. “A project?”

“Top secret, I'm afraid.” he stands up from the bench, holding his hands behind his back in typical Solas fashion. His face is straight, but there's something behind his eyes that she can't quite read. “I'll see you around, Inquisitor?”

“Skyhold is only so big.” she replies, and he nods at her with a smile before turning on his heel and walking back toward his quarters.

 

/

 

His art is beautiful. He paints like he's had a million years to do so, with precision and confidence at his fingertips. Lavellan is entranced.

“How do you do it?” she asks, as he paints the walls of his quarters with deliberate brush strokes so carefully planned. “You just see it in your mind and then, straight filter to the wall?”

He chuckles. “Not quite. The things in my mind are much more glorious than what I paint.”

“I don't know whether you're being humble or not.” she quips. He's crouched down on the ground, polishing off the details of the mural, and she squats beside him. “Look at that! It's _art_.”

“That's the point.” he takes another brush, a thinner one for details, and dips it into the white jar on his other side. She snorts.

“Don't be such an ass.”

“Or what?”

He doesn't bother to look up from his work, and so doesn't see it coming when she dips a finger into one of the paints sitting around them and wipes it on his cheek. He freezes, brush in hand, hand midstroke.

“Or that!”

She laughs, looking at his face. “Pfft, you look like— _Eee_!”

Lavellan doesn't get time to finish her sentence as Solas grabs her wrist, turning her hand toward her own face. She squeals, laughing while attempting to scoot away from him.

“Ahh, _nooo_ -! Not on my face, how long does this stuff take to wash— _eek_!” she's cut off again by him, having backed her into the wall. She squirms, attempting to wiggle away from her own hand. She manages to scoot along the edge of the wall, his best trap yet, before she darts her legs out to send him off balance.

Predictably, he topples over before she can scurry away, and that leaves them _both_ flat on the ground. Solas lets go of her arm so as to not hurt her; but ends up catching himself with his own hands planted on either side of her head, hovering over her. This position they end up in is...

Well.

Her breath hitches in her throat and he's frozen in place above her as her eyes widen, fixed on him. They're so close, her lips part instinctively and his eyes travel down to them. Neither of them move, but he looks like could—looks like he _wants_ to kiss her. She could raise her head up, he could lean down, in just one second they....

Their spell is broken by a loud bang and Cassandra enters, looking positively red as her eyes catch the two of them on the ground.

“I—Excuse me, I thought I heard—But it must have... Sorrytointrudegoodbye.” she stutters out and slams the door back closed. They both look at each other again, but the moment has already been lost. Before she turns as red as Cassandra just was, Lavellan brings her hand up and wipes the remaining paint on her finger across Solas's forehead. He jerks up, about to protest, but she uses the distraction to scramble up off the floor and dart toward the exit.

 

**Author's Note:**

> i probably could have picked an easier prompt for my first dragon age fic ever, yeah, but what would be the fun in that? this was tons of fun to write and i probably got so many things wrong, i apologize. 
> 
> (it's weird writing solas as a sort of "clean slate", and i hope it turned out okay? i mean hopefully he's still solas lmao)
> 
> thanks for reading ;)


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